He made a step toward David, his hands clenched more tightly and his
whole hulk growing tense. His eyes, blazing as if through a very thin
film of water--water that seemed to cling there by some strange
magic--were horrible, David thought. _Sakewawin!_ A pretty name for
himself, he had told the girl--and here it was raising the very devil
with this drink-bloated colossus. He guessed quickly. It was decidedly a
matter of guessing quickly and of making prompt and satisfactory
explanation--or, a throttling where he stood. His mind worked like a
race-horse. "Sakewawin" meant something that had enraged Brokaw. A
jealous rage. A rage that had filled his aqueous eyes with a lurid
glare. So David said, looking into them calmly, and with a little
feigned surprise:
"Wasn't she speaking to you, Brokaw?"
It was a splendid shot. David scarcely knew why he made it, except that
he was moved by a powerful impulse which just now he had not time to
analyze. It was this same impulse that had kept him from revealing
himself when Brokaw had mistaken him for someone else. Chance had thrown
a course of action into his way and he had accepted it almost
involuntarily. It had suddenly occurred to him that he would give much
to be alone with this half-drunken man for a few hours--as McKenna.
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